and one of the few “non-Majors” to feature both a men’s and women’s draw. Dad was excited about seeing his favorites up close – Roddick’s passion, Hewitt’s anger, the style of Sharapova. Supposedly, Michael Llodra was the funniest guy on tour. Well, Dad and Eamon would find out about all that from right up close (and they'd report every detail to Mom when they got back.) 
    Located in the dry desert air of Palm Springs, Indian Wells was brutally hot that day, inching up towards 100 degrees. In near panic, capacity crowds squeezed themselves into the shady sections of center court and every other arena. Even on remote practice courts, there was a fight for the shade. All the while, father and son wandered the arid grounds and took in the high-powered tennis atmosphere. Then hoping to avoid the heat, they headed to the USTA “Kids” canopy, where little Eamon frolicked in the bouncy play-tent, and Dad hit a few serves for the radar gun. They took their time getting something to eat and drink. Occasionally, and with great interest, Dad surveyed the big schedule board to see what matches were featured.
    As the sun began to drop low and shadows lengthened, Dad finally decided on the ideal match. James Blake, New York born and Harvard bred, was currently underway on court #4 against young Russian upstart Nikolay Davydenko. Perfect. They’d be able to get close enough to see the felt fly off the ball and hear sneakers squeak.
    Getting into Court 4 took some doing. The crowds were still jamming themselves into the shady side of the arenas; lines headed up each staircase as fans waited for the next changeover to be allowed into the stands. At last, Dad and Eamon got their chance. With Father practically carrying the kid, they made it halfway up the steps when play resumed. Panic ensued; the ushers were calling back everyone who wasn’t seated. Father and son were stranded on the stairs, when suddenly, like clouds parting in the sky, an opening appeared. An elderly couple has spotted the boy’s blue eyes, Dad thinks, and are giving up their seats!  Father and son plop

themselves down just in time to see the Harvard man crack a 130 mph serve past Davydenko’s forehand side for an ace. It’s on!
    The boy is enthralled, as much by the crowds as the play. This is his first experience at a sporting event, and slack-jawed, he takes it all in, staring contentedly and stuffing his face with a giant pretzel. He seems happy, and Dad is happy, with his little buddy at his side, sharing, for the first time, an experience he hopes will last two lifetimes.
    The kid is not familiar with tennis etiquette. Few four-year-olds are. More than once, Dad has had to stop him from crinkling the pretzel’s noisy wrapper. And now, the match is at a critical point in the second set and everything is perfectly still. Blake, attempting a comeback from a near career-ending injury, is threatening to break Davydenko and take command of the set and the match. The players are into it. The crowd is into it. Even young Eamon is into it. Then it happens. Facing break point, Davydenko steps up to the line to serve. The crowd draws its breath. Time slows down. The world leans forward as Davydenko begins his toss; and then suddenly, Eamon blurts out, in as loud a voice as a four-year-old can muster:
    “Daddy? These men are not so very good as you at tennis!”
    The line is heard by spectators as far as thirty rows away. The crowd bursts into laughter. Fans seated everywhere turn around and smile at son, and at father; they nod and laugh and gesture with thumbs-up salutes. Davydenko is forced to catch his toss midway; he glares into the stands. He probably doesn’t see exactly who is responsible for the distraction, but if he had, this is what he would have seen:
    A father with his arm around his little boy, sporting a smile as wide as the stadium itself. For without ever having picked up a racket, the kid has just provided his father – now beaming so brightly with pride that he is fighting back the tears – his perfect tennis moment.